Would He?
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: "I'm not a pawn in your game. Try the market if you want one of those, they often sell chess sets. This discussion is closed."  - rated for future safety
1. Not For Anyone

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy this little story, it should turn out quite well. I will warn that this is NOT a slash fic. Friendship between John/Sherlock, that's about it. There may be a few other pairings though, we'll see. I'm not entirely sure at this time, especially considering how new I am to these characters.**

**I don't own Sherlock, but I did spend part of my classes today watching it with my best friend.**

"I. Don't. Dance."

His tone warded off any argument though his eyes betrayed a slight bit of uneasiness. It was true: Sherlock Holmes did not dance. At least, not willingly. He'd done so in the past, of course, but even those rare times had been necessity only. Surveillance on a case, forced by his great-aunt at the age of 14 - either way, he'd never have gone if it was up to him. As he'd so simply put it, the man did not dance.

"Sure you do, Sherlock," argued the other man, shaking his head lightly to clear it of frustration. This was no light offer he was giving - a chance to attend the retirement of one of Scotland Yard's most important members, most influential members - and Sherlock had the nerve to turn it down? This couldn't be happening, especially not after the retiring man, Alexander Blackford, had specifically asked to meet the one and only Sherlock Holmes, the man he'd heard everything about and never met. Of course, the request was shuffled along to Lestrade who was now in the frustrating process of convincing the stubborn detective.

"No, I don't." A childish argument, of course, but what would one expect with him? In so many ways, Sherlock was a child in a man's body, constantly bored, constantly seeking entertainment and adventure, and so damn set in his ways. He was one of the most intelligent men Lestrade had ever met, but that didn't invalidate the childish parts of him.

"Sure, you could," he argued back. "Sherlock, come on, do this for me. Alexander Blackford has worked in Scotland Yard for over 30 years. He's one of the best. You don't understand how important this is to him."

"And you."

"Excuse me?"

"You," Sherlock replied, eyes glinting in a somewhat menacing fashion. "You wouldn't normally do this for anyone, but this man is powerful. He will be important even after retirement. He could secure raises and increasingly powerful positions over the years for you, just by simply carrying out his wishes. Lestrade, I'm not a pawn in your game. Try the market if you want one of those, they often sell chess sets."

"Funny. Really, Sherlock, hilarious, but you can't be seriously saying no. I need this," Lestrade informed him, "and you know very well that this isn't just for me. As you said, he's powerful. He could just as easily stop me from consulting you in the future."

"He wouldn't do that, and on the chance that he did, you wouldn't follow those rules. You need me. This discussion is closed, I don't dance. I refuse to attend a retirement ball for anything, let alone this."

"We'll see," the other man mumbled, turning a way for a moment. Curious, Sherlock tried to peer around him but found the way blocked as Lestrade turned again. He could barely see the edge of the phone and it became clear. Texting, of course. Probably John or someone else that might be influential, begging for help and telling them that he was refusing to attend. Ha! He'd love to see those texts.

After that moment, Lestrade turned around again and gave him a curt nod. "Just think about it, Sherlock. It won't be all that bad. You won't even have to dance if you don't want to, just meet Blackford."

And with that, the detective inspector was off, leaving Sherlock alone on the street. He shrugged to himself, muttering under his breath. No, he wouldn't attend. It would be foolish, and after all, he did not dance and would not for anyone.

…would he?


	2. A Few Problems

**A/N: Hmm, I'm having fun writing this. It's interesting so far. How am I doing with the characters? Reviews are loved, guys. Really.**

**I don't own Sherlock, not at all.**

Normally, if he didn't have a case, Sherlock Holmes would be making his way back to 221B Baker Street as fast as he possibly could, but today he was delaying himself. He was quite sure that Lestrade had sent a text to John and honestly had no need for another argument. No doubt John would agree with the request. A chance to take Sarah to a ball? He scoffed. Of course John would jump at that chance.

Because of this, it was a good hour before he even considered going home. At that time he'd been so bored that he couldn't help flag a taxi down. Home would give him something to do. Surely he couldn't shoot things on a city street, as tempting as it sounded. But he could shoot things at home, quite easily. Then again, there was the chance that John would shoot him. Their rent had nearly doubled the last time he'd gotten bored with the world and decided that shooting the wall was much more fun than sitting.

The ride was swift and quiet, words only spoken when necessary. It wasn't long before he arrived back at the flat and exited the taxi quickly, barely remembering to pay. He couldn't help but to glance at the cabbie, at least for a few seconds, to study him. After the Study in Pink, as John had so affectionally named it, he'd found himself scrutinizing every cabbie he happened to flag down.

Sherlock took the stairs up to the flat two at a time, barely pausing to notice that the door was, for once, closed. Frustrated, he turned the handle with no avail. Considering he had no keys, this left him almost no choice. The man slammed his shoulder on the door, satisfied with the 'crack!' it made as it gave way to him. He stumbled into the room, a small smile on his face.

"Blimey, Sherlock, you could have just knocked!" John greeted him, looking wild-eyed. "I'd thought you were a burglar or something! Just be glad I didn't shoot you."

"Why was the door closed?" Sherlock asked curiously, his gaze flicking back and forth between John and the door. Unfortunately, he realized, their rent was about to go up again, as he'd cracked part of the wood along the side of the door. Oh well. They'd pay for it somehow.

"It's not important." At a glare from Sherlock, John shook his head and tried again. "Sarah was over, alright? She's a bit shaken up from the other times we've been held hostage, Sherlock, and you can't blame her. She feels safer with the door locked."

"Is that the only reason?"

John merely rolled his eyes and chose to move on. "I got a text from Lestrade. Something about a retirement ball for some man in Scotland Yard. Are you really not going to attend?"

"I knew he'd go to you," Sherlock mumbled, more to himself than John. He looked amused at the situation rather than annoyed by it. "Of course I'm not going."

"Oh, but I am," John informed him. "Just have to call Sarah, she'll be coming with me. Come on, Sherlock, you can't say no to this."

"I already have."

"And why's that? You don't dance?" A nod. "Sherlock, you can't turn this down of all things. Besides, what better things do you have to do? It might keep you from getting bored for a while."

"There's a few problems with that. Mostly the fact that I do not dance and refuse to."

"Hmm, so you do admit it might entertain you."

"Not at all, John, not at all."

"Oh, give it up, Sherlock," came a voice from behind them. John spun around, stunned to see the detective inspector, though Sherlock only seemed more amused at his arrival. "You're coming, and that's final. We'll even pay for the clothes."


	3. Principal Reason

**A/N: I think I've decided to change this a bit. As in give it a pairing. We'll see how far it goes with Sherlock and this other person though. I'm not sure it'll go anywhere at all, but we shall see. Still John/Sarah though. Anyway, enjoy this chapter! (is anyone reading this? hmm. silent reviewers. :( )**

**I don't own Sherlock.**

"It's not the clothes that I care about. You know very well that I have clothing for such an occasion."

"Yes, and you know it's not the clothes I care about either. I don't think Blackford would care at all if you showed up in a simple paper bag. He'd probably be more entertained that way. And no, Sherlock, that was not a suggestion."

"Too bad," John muttered under his breath, a small smile on his face. "That would be interesting to see."

"Don't encourage him, John." Lestrade shot him a look in which his face spelled anger but his eyes gave him away. He was just as amused by the idea. Still, the man's face darkened after a second. If Sherlock actually did that, he'd become the joke of the office, regardless of fulfilling Blackford's wish. "Sherlock, really, I don't see why you're being so difficult."

"It's quite simple, really, I doubt I need to explain it to you. I have no desire to go. Boring. Dull. And what would I do there? I don't dance and will not," Sherlock shrugged, his tone almost bored. His calculating eyes caught the look Lestrade had shot at John but chose to ignore the comment. Of course he had slightly more pride than that. Showing up in a paper bag? Really?

"You don't have to dance, Sherlock, if you don't-"

"Of course I do. It's part of a retirement ball. If I show up I'll be expected to meet Blackford. Fine. I shall then be expected to dance and join the man for supper or something of the like."

"Okay, maybe. So I can't promise that you won't have to dance. I still don't see it, Sherlock, what's the big deal?" Lestrade stared at the other man quizzically, the same look mirrored by John. Really, this could all be in Sherlock's benefit - so why on Earth was he so adamant in his refusal?

"It's not important," he replied shortly. "I simply do not want to go."

"Sure it is. What's the problem?" It was John's turn to speak now. He seemed more concerned than anything, though there was a hint of confusion in his voice. Obviously there were reasons for Sherlock not dancing, but simply not going made no sense at all. "Are you worried that you'll have no one to go with?"

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction at this and he instantly knew he hit a nerve. John started to speak, attempting to correct himself, only to be cut off by Sherlock himself. "I suppose that would be a reason, yes. It's not appropriate to arrive alone at an event like this. Especially considering I'd rather not have to fend off the other lone wolves, so to speak. Mm. Yes, I suppose you're somewhat right there, John, though that's not really a principal reason."

Something in his words told otherwise, though thankfully Lestrade didn't pick up on this. John nodded slowly. His mind worked about as fast as he guessed Sherlock's did on a slow day, going through a list of women in his head. After a few seconds of silence he shrugged and began to list aloud. "Hmm. Mrs. Hudson?… no, too old. Donovan? …wait, you hate each other. Oh, Sherlock, what about Molly?"

"Molly?" he asked incredulously. "The girl who works in the morgue? I'm not sure what to make of that suggestion, Doctor."

"Make of it what you will," Lestrade cut in, "but you can't say no to this, Sherlock. If going alone is your problem, then find a solution. You can't skip out on this. I would beg if it would make you feel better even."

"And you're suggesting that my solution here is Molly," Sherlock said slowly. He was obviously thinking, though the others in the room couldn't even begin to guess the battle in his mind. At least they'd gotten to the root of the problem.

"I could ask her for you," John offered. "I could stop by the morgue tomorrow morning on my way to see Sarah. It wouldn't be any hassle, and I'm sure she'd say yes."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Are you blind, Sherlock? Ah, nevermind… is that a yes or a no?"

"That's a 'do what you will', I still don't want to go," Sherlock argued, stepping around the other men to pick up his violin. He fell roughly into his chair. Lestrade looked panicked for a moment, realizing what this meant. He was supposed to leave now, the discussion really was closed.

"Alright, Sherlock, you're going. Got it? John, don't forget Molly. Thank you, gentlemen."

And with that, he was gone, leaving a dumbfounded Sherlock and a chuckling John behind him.


	4. Don't Bother

**A/N: Not the best chapter, I guess, but I had some fun writing the Molly/John part. This should be interesting to keep writing. We'll get to the dance itself soon. Poor Sherlock, he's going to be so uncomfortable.**

**I don't own Sherlock, not at all.**

'John, I'm not going.

Don't bother with the morgue.

SH'

It was the text John Watson received the next morning as he opened the door to the hospital. He only grinned at it. Of course he would be doing this anyway, despite Sherlock's wishes. Socialization could never hurt a man, and, besides, he'd been instructed by Lestrade to go through with it at all costs. Even if Sherlock held him at gunpoint, or threatened him with an awful-looking experiment, he was supposed to go through with this.

That was why he'd woken early and left early, surprisingly managing to wake before Sherlock. It must have been a tiring night for him, considering the man barely slept at all. Actually, he'd nearly fallen asleep the night before with his violin in hand. John had had to actually convince his friend to go to bed rather than sleeping on the couch.

He was still quite surprised at leaving so quickly that morning. It hadn't taken long to get to the hospital, nearly no time at all. And now he walked its halls, following the familiar path to the morgue. A few nurses smiled and waved from where they stood and he returned the gesture. Unlike Sherlock, who seemed to attract more bad attention than anything, he'd made a few friendly acquaintances here. It would be too much to call them friends, but he could have a word with them now and then.

John continued walking past the few rooms he'd never been in, pushing through doors and passing security guards who didn't even bother to raise a hand at him. Obviously he'd acquired a reputation for walking with one Sherlock Holmes and the security guards knew there'd be no stopping him. He chuckled briefly. They probably though he was here for some crazy experiment - far from the truth.

"Molly?" he asked tentatively as he pushed open the door to the morgue and looked around. She wasn't anywhere to be found. Frowning, he turned and marched out. It didn't take him long to find the lab where he'd first met Sherlock. She stood here now, looking at something with another hospital employee. John waved at her, and, though she smiled back, she did not approach him right away.

He shrugged and waited outside the room. It wasn't long before she and the other person came out. Molly, however, stopped by him, while the other kept going. John smiled for her again. "Hello, Molly. How's your day going?"

"Quite well, thanks," her tone was polite but he picked up something behind it. Apprehension? He wondered what about. Perhaps she also expected him to be there looking to use her expertise the way Sherlock did. A smile and a comment just for her, a meaningless one, but it had always worked in the past… No, he wouldn't use those tactics, so why was she so anxious?

"I actually have a question for you," John informed her. "Don't worry, not about anything of Sherlock's. Well, yes it is, but it's not another case. I think you'll actually rather like this question."

"Okay, what is it?" Curiosity piqued, he noted and grinned.

"How would you like to go to the retirement ball for a member of Scotland Yard… with the one and only Sherlock Holmes?"

* * *

"Damn him," Sherlock muttered, angrily tossing the plate he was holding at the wall. It smashed into the sink, satisfying him with the smashing sound. "I shouldn't have slept. Damn him, he's gone to Molly now. I can't get out of this."

Angrily, he picked up his phone again and quickly typed two texts messages. One to John - "Don't you dare! SH" - and another to Lestrade - "I guess I'm going. Good job getting John on board. You win, but you owe me. SH". He then tossed the phone onto the couch. He might have been satisfied if it had broken, too, but then again, he'd have nothing to text with if that happened. Except John's phone.

"Damn him," he repeated. "Now I'm stuck. No cases that night. No nothing. I'll have to meet that man. I'll have to dance. I'll have to play nice. No, it's all too dull, why are they doing this to me? There has to be a way out of it… faking my own death is out of the question, though intriguing."

Just then, his phone buzzed and Sherlock rushed over to it, hoping it was a message from John breaking the "bad news" that Molly had said no. Instead, as he clicked the message, he found quite the opposite.

'Sorry Sherlock.

Molly said yes. She's excited, so don't back out of this.

JW'


	5. Awkward!

**A/N: Yay, an awkward Sherlock. Don't we all just love that? x) Anyway, please enjoy this. **

**I don't own Sherlock, unfortunately.**

"For God's sake, John, why did you do that to me?"

An rather angry-looking Sherlock glared at his friend, hands uncharacteristically placed on his hips. His glare intensified at the small smile his question earned. In the time that John had been out, talking to Sarah and Molly and everyone else that he needed in his funny little world, Sherlock's anger had only progressed. The result? Many broken dishes, a hole in the wall (undoubtedly from his gun) and the angry questioning that was occurring then.

"Why did you do that to me?" he repeated. "Why did you have to ask Molly? I know Lestrade put you up to this, don't bother denying it."

"It's not that bad, you know," John shrugged at him, discarding the bag that had hung loosely around his arm. "It could even be good for you. Besides, Lestrade forwarded that text to me. So you're going, huh? I guess this worked then. But why all the anger towards me?"

"I'm not exactly happy with him, either," Sherlock mumbled, shaking his head. His voice grew louder with the next sentence. "But, come on! That wasn't called for at all. You should have accepted no. Both of you."

"Look, Sherlock? Molly's excited. I'm excited. Sarah's just as well. Don't ruin this for us. And really, you don't have to be so detached all the time. It wouldn't hurt you to have a little fun."

* * *

In three days time, despite all of his protesting, Sherlock Holmes stood in his living room, dressed smartly in a hand-tailored suit. He turned slowly for his friend, who nodded and did the same. Both now pleased with their appearance and each other's, they set about last minute fussing. Brushing hair off of their suit jackets that had come from God-knows-where, tucking that loose hair behind their ears for the hundredth time. Neither would admit it, but both were quite anxious.

Waiting for the girls didn't help. John, of course, was excited to see Sarah - he was quite sure that she would be beautiful. Sherlock, on the other hand, did not seem so excited. After all, he'd picked Molly because she was available, not for any other real reason. Hadn't he? Really, it wasn't as if he actually picked her at all. But here he was nonetheless, waiting for the girl.

"I hope they show up soon," John muttered. Sherlock grinned at him. They'd been ready for thirty minutes already. Most men, of course, would be expected to go pick up the women, but they'd both been instructed to simply wait. Sarah hadn't wanted John to see her dress quite yet, she'd said it was special and she'd rather be ready to show him than have him show up early and only see her half-ready. Sherlock hadn't really cared to go to Molly's, and thankfully she'd offered to come to him instead.

Right on queue, the slamming of a door echoed around the flat, followed by excited chittering. The men exchanged a humorous smirk as the women slowly climbed up the stairs. It was a wonder they could walk, considering the high heels they were sure to be wearing. And, sure enough, as they walked around the corner, it was clear. Their footwear for the night? Silver high heels, same in shade with only a slight difference in heel height.

John's face broke into a smile again and he propelled himself forward to meet Sarah, his eyes taking in everything. She was wearing a black dress, perfectly modest as it should be for an event like this. It nearly reached the floor, in fact, and parts of it shined silver against the black fabric. It wasn't a small dress, by any means, but she definitely wore it well.

"Sarah! You look beautiful," he informed her, earning a kiss and a smile.

"And you look handsome, m'dear," she replied, quoting the line of a movie they'd long forgotten the title of. Even so, they both laughed. They were, in all means, a happy pair.

However, Molly and Sherlock were not quite. Neither of them had really moved. Sherlock's eyebrow was raised as he looked at the women and she seemed more scared than anything. He couldn't even really manage a smile. John noticed this after a moment and muttered something like 'knew he'd do this' before breaking the awkward silence between the pair with a loud, overly cheery, "Molly! Nice to see you. Sherlock, she looks lovely, doesn't she?"

An awkward glance and a shrug later, "Yes, she does look quite nice."

Molly didn't seem to be affected positively by this. She tried to give him a small smile but it came out more nervous than anything. This was going horribly. She should have just said no, she should have just said-

"Shall we go?" Sherlock asked, finally moving towards her. He held his arm out and gratefully she took it. At least that part of the awkwardness was over. There was actually a lingering smile on his face as well as hers now.

"They're crazy," John whispered to Sarah, "but I suppose the night's not over yet."


	6. Midnight Blue

**A/N: Woot, less awkward Sherlock. xD Enjoy!**

**I don't own Sherlock. At all. Shame, isn't it?**

Waiting for them outside was a rather comfortable-looking, sleek black limo. Sherlock only rolled his eyes at it. He would have been quite comfortable in a simple taxi, but Lestrade had insisted. 'Perks of accepting', he'd said. Besides, Mycroft would have arranged this if Lestrade hadn't in the first place.

John and Sarah climbed in first, followed by Molly and an extremely reluctant Sherlock. Already he wasn't happy with this night. It would be lovely if he could just meet Blackford and leave, but that wasn't going to happen. He shouldn't have mentioned not having a person to go with at all. It wasn't Molly that was the problem, really. He didn't mind her all that much. It was what came with her that bothered him. She would want to dance, she would want to stay.

"Well, this is exciting," a voice interrupted his thoughts. "When are you going to meet Blackford, Sherlock?"

"You're coming as well," he answered automatically and forced a light smile on his face. "Don't leave me to the dogs, John, I just might need you. All of you, I suppose. Sarah, Molly, I hope you don't mind."

Molly blushed beside him. It was really one of the first things he'd said with her name in it or even remotely directed towards him. She mumbled something like 'sounds good. I mean, alright.' while Sarah simply smiled and nodded. This wasn't exciting, Sherlock thought with a smirk, this was downright awkward.

The next few minutes passed in silence until Sarah tried to revive the conversation again. "Molly, where did you get that dress? I rather like it."

She blushed at this as well and only now did Sherlock bother to actually scrutinize what she was wearing. It fell to her knees - at least she'd had some limits in length, considering what they were attending. The top half looked rather tight while the bottom half flowed like silk around her legs, all of it pulled together by a simple white ribbon around her middle. The dress itself was of midnight blues and silvers. Together, it didn't look bad at all. He had to admit that he didn't mind her choice at all.

"Oh, around," Molly replied, attempting to hold an air of mystery. "I can't give all my secrets, you know. But thank you, I like your dress as well. And your suits look good."

She didn't bother adding John and Sherlock's names at the end, but both of them simultaneously looked away. It was one thing for a woman to have her clothes commented on, but for two men like them… well, while the compliment was quite loved, it caused them both to blush. After a moment John turned back, smiling. "Thanks, Molly. Midnight blue suits you as well as black suits Sarah. Did you two meet before coming to see us or just happen to arrive at the same time?"

"They arrived at the same time, both took cabs, but not the same one," Sherlock informed him, almost bored. The occupants of the car only smiled at him, the girls nodding, but nobody questioned him. He didn't explain his thoughts at all.

"He's right," Molly was actually smiling now. He looked at her curiously. This was one of the reasons she had such an affection for him - the intelligence. She liked the mystery that surrounded him and everything he said. Of course, he wasn't the sweetest man in the world, but he was quite attractive by her standards.

"Very," Sarah agreed, nodding. "I guess we run on the same schedule or something. We both took the same time getting ready. And what of you two? Did you spend hours fussing as we did?"

The men exchanged a look but both shook their heads vigorously. They wouldn't admit to fussing over their clothing, down to the last button. Unfortunately, however, the women spotted this look as well and exchanged one of their own. They knew, of course. Especially considering how the two were over most other things, fussing wouldn't be beyond them at all.

"We spent a little while, but not long," John lied quickly. "Besides, don't you want us to look good? I think we look rather swell, if you ask me. Twenty minutes of fussing well spent."

"Twenty minutes? Yeah, right," Sarah laughed, poking him gently. He merely shrugged in reply.

"How far away is the ball?" Molly piped up from beside them, looking curiously out the window. She couldn't be sure how long they'd been on the road already, but she was starting to enjoy things. After all, she was sitting beside THE Sherlock Holmes. His arm was draped across the back of the seat and nearly around her ('the old yawn and stretch move?' she wondered), and the atmosphere in the limo was now at least semi-comfortable.

"Not far," Sherlock informed her. He expected John to add the exact timing but, looking across the car, it was obvious the other man wasn't going to. Sherlock snorted and looked back at Molly. John and Sarah seemed more interested in each other right now. He bit back the urge to say "get a room", despite their very innocent actions. It wasn't as if they were doing more than laughing, talking and occasionally exchanging kisses.

Molly looked up to meet his eyes with a small smile. He returned it, though reluctantly. A few moments of silence again. And then, rather tentatively, she asked, "Sherlock, are you excited?"

She wasn't sure where the question came from but it threw him off balance. He merely shrugged. A look of slight disappointment flashed across her face and he realized: wrong answer. Instead of speaking, however, he took her small hand and held it against his chest.

This time, right answer.


	7. DI Lestrade, Introductions?

**A/N: Not the best chapter ever written. I have to say, thank you to the reviewers. x) The two of you made my day. Anyway, enjoy.**

**I don't own Sherlock.**

Molly flushed bright pink as he took her hand. She couldn't help it. He was looking at her, only her, those beautiful eyes locked on hers and a rare smile on his face. She was having trouble keeping her own smile level. Her thoughts ran a million kilometres a minute, heart fluttering. Who knew that Sherlock actually had knowledge of things like this?

He wasn't really sure why he'd done it. After all, the man normally couldn't care less about women and romance. It wasn't his field - his life was more devoted to his work, as he'd always wanted it to be. So it made absolutely no sense to him why he'd taken her hand in his. Probably, he decided, because he hadn't wanted to disappoint her. But why would he care?

"We're almost there," a voice called from the front seat, pulling both of them back to reality. Molly gave a sheepish smile and withdrew her hand from his, leaning back against the seat. Each drew deep breaths, attempting to slow their minds. The rest of the ride was silent, all two minutes of it. Occasionally she'd steal a glance at him but Sherlock seemed more focussed on the window than anything. 'Fine,' Molly thought, 'but I hope he's not like this all night.'

The limo came to a rumbling stop outside of a rather large building. She didn't recognize it, but why would she? Molly wasn't exactly the richest person in all of London. She considering a night out at the bar indulgent most of the time, so this - this was absolutely extravagant. She stepped out of the vehicle, a small smile creeping onto her face again. Even if Sherlock didn't acknowledge her for the rest of the night, this was sure to be fun.

Behind her, John and Sarah exited. She giggled a small bit. They hadn't really paid attention to anything, thank God, and had been sitting a full minute in the limo before realizing that she and Sherlock had already left. The pair looked a bit flushed.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sarah apologized quickly. "Ah, just got caught up in the conversation is all. Well, isn't this lovely."

She was obviously looking around too. The men didn't seem half as impressed, but that hardly mattered. Considering just how expensive Sherlock's scarf alone must be, it would hardly be easy to be surprised at their neutral reactions. Molly snorted. Sherlock probably visited this place at least a dozen times.

"Shall we go, then?" John rumbled, offering his arm to Sarah, who took it. After a moment, Molly realized that Sherlock was doing the same for her and she took it somewhat hesitantly. He stared at her curiously for a moment. Why the hesitation? He'd thought she'd wanted to come to this. Far more than he had, anyway.

"Y-yes," Molly nodded after a few moments. The four of them took the steps slowly, both women solely focussed on not falling over. High heels. She hated them so much some times. Fortunately, however, neither fell and they soon found themselves inside the building. It was as extravagant inside as it had been outside - more so, even. Polished wooden floors and high marble walls. Men dressed in dark suits carrying champagne, women dressed in light gowns leading guests to the ballroom. Molly suddenly felt very underdressed.

"I suppose we'll have to meet Blackford first," Sherlock decided, speaking more to himself than the others. They all nodded anyway. He led the group towards the ballroom, ignoring the offers for help from the employees. It was true, he'd been here a dozen times - this place was not unfamiliar to him. 'Just down the hall,' he thought, 'second door on the left.' And, of course, he was right.

They stepped into the room, far vaster than the hallway they'd just left. The women stared around in amazement while John and Sherlock exchanged a knowing look. Of course, this place amazed them as well, but the effect wore off in time. It was just another visit to a place that neither really liked to go. Classical music played from a band on the side of the room, reminding them, yet again, of just how they were supposed to behave here. Classy, polite. It was too bad that neither really possessed those qualities.

"Sherlock! Thank God," a voice greeted them. All heads turned to see Lestrade striding towards them, an odd sort of smile on his face. "Blackford has been asking how early you'll be here. I owe you for this. Really, I do. Can you come see him now or would you prefer a few minutes to get settled?"

"Now would be ideal," Sherlock replied. "I suppose you expect John to come as well. Very well, then, where is the man?"

"Over there," Lestrade pointed towards a rather short man standing by the band. "Come with me. He'll be pleased to see you."

Shrugging, Sherlock followed the man, and the others followed him. Molly clung to his arm like it was a lifeline. She was beginning to get the familiar anxiety again. She was about to meet a very influential member of Scotland Yard, was she not? Of course, it wasn't because the man wanted to meet her, but she could easily jeopardize this for Sherlock if she said something wrong. Best to keep her mouth shut.

As they drew close enough to see the man, Molly nearly laughed. She'd expected a tall, formidable man. Instead, Blackford was rather short. His hairline receding and most of his hair tipped gray anyway. He didn't seem to really have much for strength, despite the years in Scotland Yard. Perhaps he'd spent his last ten years working paper work, she decided. That would explain the lack of formidability.

"Ah, gentlemen, ladies," Blackford greeting, nodding slightly to them. "Pleased to see you, of course. DI Lestrade, please, introductions."


End file.
